Really. I do. My oven, far as I know, is entirely capable of cooking a bun.
So, I always wanted kids. Always. When I was a kid and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would tell them I wanted to be a mom. I didn’t ever think about the logistics of that or what my family, exactly, would look like; just like when you ask a six year old what he wants to be and he says, “Optimus Prime”, it doesn’t god damn matter what he will have to do or even what he’ll do when he IS Optimus Prime, that’s what he’s gonna be.
This longing to have children wasn’t just to be someone’s mom. I wanted to carry them, birth them, breastfeed them. As I moved from fantastical child into early adulthood I realized that being single, working in the industry I work in, that pays well, but not over the top, would present a challenge. I was determined, none the less, and around 20 I started looking into lesbian (who doesn’t want to fuck dudes to get pregnant) friendly options. There are numerous sperm banks out there and one relatively close, affordable and easy to work with.
A lot of things have happened from then to now and, thankfully, I am in a very happy, safe and financially stable relationship. A lot of things haven’t changed. I still plan on working with the same sperm bank I had originally considered. I still want to birth my own children.
Virginia, my wife-if-it-were-legal, my girlfriend, my life partner, has zero desire to ever carry her own children. She wants to hold them, and rock them to sleep. She will love them, possibly more than me. She wants to garden with them, travel with them, teach them big life lessons. But in no way, does she ever want to birth them.
I asked her once, if I was in an accident and was unable to carry children, if she’d do it for us. The short answer is no. She would not. She will never ‘give me children’.
It doesn’t matter who we are talking to, how many times we say that I, that Kenze, is having the baby, how close of friends we might be, everyone expects Virginia to birth the offspring, because….She has more hair than I do? Because she wears lady pants? Because she’s shorter than I am? Because her feet are small?
Virginia went to the HR at our job and was inquiring on benefits available to a lesbian co-parent in the major life event of the birth of our child. She explained fully that I, her lesbian companion, would be carrying the child. The HR began to explain, fully comprehended that Virginia, in the legal sense, would not be the parent of this child. Then I walked into the room. It took us a few times of asking for the information we were being told to be repeated before we realized, that when I walked in, Virginia immediately became the childbaring parent and I the illegal co-parent. We took away the information that we needed, ultimately, but it hurt a little.
My own mother, my mother who was been told by me, her daughter, for my entire life that one day I wanted to have babies, birth babies, breastfeed my babies. My mother, who when she finally accepted that my gayness was not just a phase, could only accept it because I promised her that I still wanted to carry her grandkids and would find a way, one day, to have my kids, sans mans. My mother, who when Virginia and I started dating informed me that she wasn’t girly enough for me. My mother, asked Virginia and I, why Virginia wouldn’t carry our kids, as she was obviously the girl.
BECAUSE I STILL HAVE A UTERUS AND ALL I’VE EVER WANTED WAS TO MAKE BABIES COME OUT OF ME.
It’s insulting. It’s heartbreaking how ignorant and shallow people are. Do people really think that I am less of a woman than Virginia? I spend my days cooking and cleaning and dreaming about having babies, while Virginia sits at the head of the table and builds things with wood and weird metal parts I don’t understand. She is no less of a woman or more of a woman than I am. We are not men. We are both women, loving, committed, emotional women.
I look forward to the embarrassment when we are, when I am, pregnant, and Virginia tells people that she’s going to be a mom in xx months and they comment on how she’s getting a bit round in the belly. Or tell her she’s glowing. Or mention that’s why she’s been so moody. Embarrassed to be the ignorant, unobservant, shallow type that they really are.